


Some Brokeback Thing

by mystivy



Category: Justified
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:06:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystivy/pseuds/mystivy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not long after the shootout at the cabin, Boyd pays a visit to Raylan.  (Set at the end of Season 1.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Brokeback Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my fantastic betas ifeelfinite and jenniebellie. Without your help and encouragement, this would not have ever been finished. ♥♥

It was the night following the shootout that Boyd found Raylan. Raylan had it in his mind that evening to get the hell out of the office and over to Winona’s place as soon as he could, but as soon as he stepped inside his motel room he felt a weariness overcome him and he realised tonight was not the night to hash things out. He’d been in two shootouts in less than fourteen hours and, after debriefing, Mullen had ordered him home. Well. The Bluegrass out on 60 was as close to a home as Raylan could get.

So he found himself back in his motel room, leaning back in his chair with his boots up on the bed as he necked a beer. Boyd didn’t trouble himself to knock, he just walked on in.

Excuse my audacity visitin you without so much as a by your leave, Deputy Marshal, he said, shutting the door behind him and putting his hand on the back of the vacant chair. I hope you don’t mind if I join you.

Raylan nodded, but he didn’t say a word. Boyd extracted a bottle of Jim Beam from an inner pocket and placed it on the table. Raylan smiled and shook his head a little, and retrieved two plastic cups from by the sink. What are you doin here, Boyd? he asked.

Boyd still had that look about him that he’d had since he found God, as if he had one eye on this world and one eye on the next, though he carried the weight of the last few days in the fall of his shoulders. I’m just visitin an old friend, Raylan, he said. His face was still bruised, a little swollen, from the beating he’d sustained. He’d cleaned up as much as he could of the blood.

You’ve taken up drinkin again?

Boyd shrugged. I can’t deny that I seek solace in alcohol after the deaths of my brethren. He heaved a sigh. Raylan found it disconcerting how easy it was to believe him. He poured a shot in each glass and slid Boyd’s across the table.

They took your Daddy in for an autopsy, he said.

Boyd nodded slowly. I see, he said. I pray that the Lord might have mercy on his soul.

You were gonna kill him, said Raylan.

That don’t mean I wish him an eternity of damnation. Boyd took a swallow of whiskey. Can you imagine how long eternity is, Raylan?

Raylan shook his head. No, I cannot.

Yet you’ve sent many men to face it.

That is true. Raylan nodded thoughtfully. Didn’t you send your Daddy’s killer to face her maker?

Boyd sighed heavily. I followed her right across the State line, he said. We were close to Tennessee by the time she even stopped for gas. She drove like the devil was on her tail.

Sounds like she had a realistic grasp of the situation, interjected Raylan.

He expected some kind of righteous defence from Boyd, but instead all he got was a rueful sigh and sorrow in his eyes. Ain’t that the truth, said Boyd heavily.

So you killed her there? Raylan observed Boyd out of the corner of his eye, the despondent hunch of his shoulders, the pallor of his skin.

I didn’t kill her at all, he said. I followed her round back to the restroom and I waited for her. I had the rifle right against her temple when she walked outside. But I found that I could not do it. I could not pull the trigger. Not in cold blood.

Raylan sipped his whiskey, his eyes fixed on Boyd’s face. You did the right thing, Boyd, he said gently.

Boyd smiled a little sadly. Life has a way of turnin out different to what you expect, don’t it, Raylan? he said quietly. You back in Harlan after your spell out in Miami, me with nowhere to go but your motel room after tryin to rid my home of the evil my Daddy intended to visit upon it. Sometimes I think how much easier it mighta been if we’d just stuck it out in the coalmines.

You weren’t cut out for the mines any more than I was, said Raylan. He could feel the whiskey already easing out his muscles, heating up his belly. It was a warm night and the room trapped the heat. He could feel the coating of sweat on his skin and hear the chirrup of crickets outside, the windows wide open to try to catch the breeze. He stretched out his legs, boots up on the bedspread.

He looked over at Boyd, who was taking him in, the long, skinny sprawl of him. Boyd’s eyes stopped just about where his holster would usually be. Tonight it was on the table by the phone, down the other end of the room. Raylan felt strange without the comforting weight on his hip, but to his own surprise he did not feel vulnerable.

Well I am flattered, Raylan, said Boyd quietly.

Raylan quirked an eyebrow. Oh? he said. I didn’t think a chair and two plastic cups was much of a welcome.

Boyd smiled. I do believe this is the first time since you came back to Harlan County that you haven’t been a hair’s breadth from drawin on me.

Raylan laughed slowly, felt it deep in his chest. Well, I ain’t got nothin to shoot you for this time. Wouldn’t be justified.

Justified, repeated Boyd. That what you tell yourself every time you kill a man, Deputy?

Raylan rolled whiskey on his tongue. That what you’re here to talk about, Mr Crowder? he replied.

Boyd shrugged. I guess not, he said. But don’t it weigh heavy on your mind?

Raylan straightened up, looking across the table at Boyd. That’s why you’re here? To unburden your conscience? I’m no preacher, Boyd, that’s your department, and if you want to confess to your many sins then I suggest you come into the office with me on Monday and we do this properly.

Boyd leaned forward on his elbows and held Raylan’s gaze. He was as calm as a summer lake, and Raylan didn’t look away. If you can tell me, Raylan, that your conscience is clean and without blot or stain after all the men you’ve killed, if you can swear to me on your Momma’s grave that you never lie awake at night thinkin on all those dead men and how they’d still be breathin if it wasn’t for you, then you can drag me in, mike me up, and I will empty my soul to you and you can slam me straight back in the big house. Does that strike you as fair?

Raylan gritted his teeth. The light outside the window flickered and barely a breath of air made it past the screens. How about we forget about it and you finish up that whiskey and head out to wherever it is you’re intending to sleep tonight?

Boyd smiled gently. See, I thought so. He knocked back the rest of his whiskey but instead of leaving, he reached for the bottle.

They sat in silence while Boyd poured a double into his glass and refilled Raylan’s, too. Raylan shifted in his seat, irritated. Boyd sat back in his chair and propped his feet up close to Raylan’s. Raylan felt his presence like an annoying buzz, like the flies that clustered round the flickering light in the porch of his dingy motel room.

I didn’t come here to open up old wounds, Raylan, said Boyd after a time.

You seem reluctant to tell me what you did come here for, replied Raylan.

Just to chew over old times, speculate on new. What friends do when they get together and drink, ain’t it?

Raylan grunted. That what we are? he said. Friends?

We were, once, replied Boyd. Back when times was less crazy and all we had to concern ourselves with was followin the seams underground.

Then you became a neo-nazi, a murderer and then some kinda born-again preacher, said Raylan.

And you became a US Marshal under the impression that he’s some kinda old time gunslinger, replied Boyd, not missing a beat. No one else can see through you like I can, Raylan.

The worst part of it was, thought Raylan, that he was right. He knew what kind of figure he cut in that hat and those hip-holsters, walking like Clint Eastwood in cowboy boots. Goddamn if Boyd’s insight didn’t get on his last nerve. Is that so? he said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

That is so, said Boyd. And I’ll tell you one more thing. I don’t believe anyone sees through me like you do. Sure, it took you a while to understand that my turnin to the Lord was as honest as I know how. But that wasn’t on account of you not knowin me, he said, leaning towards Raylan in his earnestness. That was on account of you knowin me too well.

You got that right, said Raylan.

Whoso feareth the Lord shall direct his friendship aright: for as he is, so shall his neighbour be also. That’s you and me, Raylan. I see that now.

Raylan shook his head, laughing a little. Whatever you need to tell yourself, Boyd, he said.

I ain’t here for what I need, said Boyd, in that deadly calm voice of his. If Raylan admitted the truth—and something about the thick, humid night and the taste of whiskey on his tongue inclined him towards it—he found that voice a comfort. The irritation he felt when Boyd was around was the irritation of an old, hidden truth once more disclosed.

Remember that time the shaft was comin down? he said. And you said… what was it you said again? He frowned and looked over towards Boyd.

They that be fallen into danger are such as have works, and faith toward the Almighty.

That’s right. You always got somethin, don’t you. A quote for every occasion.

More than a quote, Raylan. Those are the words of the Lord.

And I’m glad you find comfort in ’em, said Raylan. He tipped back his chair and dropped his head back, closing his eyes and feeling for a draft through the window. None came. When he opened his eyes again, Boyd had a kind of unsettled look, a look Raylan hadn’t seen since they were nineteen.

And when we got out and later on you and me got drunk up in the woods, said Boyd, I said somethin else. Remember that, Raylan?

Raylan dropped forward, the legs of his chair landing with a bang against the floorboards. No, he said, and all of a sudden he felt his insides seize up while his mind flooded with a memory he had long struggled to repress.

And it came to pass that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. Boyd wouldn’t look at him, though he was smiling as if to himself. Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul.

Why are you talkin about this? Raylan’s voice nearly stuck in his throat when he asked.

Boyd finally looked into his eyes again. Because you and me nearly died again today, Raylan, he said quietly. Once more the Lord has brought us safe through danger and kept us from death.

Raylan leaned his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. Jesus Christ, Boyd, he said, half laughing but without any humour. You think we’re gonna end up the same way now as we did when we were fuckin nineteen, drunk an horny?

Only one of those three that I don’t aim to be tonight is nineteen, said Boyd.

Raylan shook his head. He drank more whiskey and looked at Boyd in disbelief. I don’t even know what to say to you.

Boyd laughed, toothy and loose with whiskey. Don’t you fret, Raylan, he said, tipping the bottle towards Raylan’s cup and filling it up well past a shot measure. Just bringin up old times, that’s all.

Raylan rubbed the back of his neck and fell silent, contemplating his whiskey, boots flat on the floor and elbows still on his knees. He remembered that night well enough, despite twenty years of careful forgetting. How it was just the two of them in a small clearing in the thick of the woods, an old storm lantern from the back of his truck the only light that cloudy night. They’d spread old blankets from Boyd’s pickup on the ground and drank a few beers, but soon Boyd had produced a jar of moonshine, and they passed it back and forth without wiping the rim. And sometime before they reached the bottom of the jar, he’d picked some inane fight with Boyd just so as he could wrestle him to the ground, let out the adrenalin of nearly dying down there in the mine. Boyd fought back at first, laughing and spitting and rolling around, until they both drew up still and tight against each other and wrestling turned to something else. Raylan felt his face flush red at the unwanted recollection, growing more and more vivid now that he no longer tamped it down.

He looked up at Boyd, who was leaning back and observing him with a faint look of amusement.

If you’ll excuse me, I need to take a piss, said Raylan, and he placed his whiskey on the table and stalked past Boyd to the bathroom without another word.

He pissed and tucked his dick back in and then stood, one arm against the wall, staring at his own face in the mirror. He did not often meditate upon his own appearance, but now, looking at the lines around his eyes and mouth, the grey at his temples, the salt and pepper of his three-day beard, it occurred to him exactly what those twenty years had wrought. A lifetime spent running away from Harlan, resulting in one marriage he had considered, until two days ago, failed; one dead man slumped over his lunch in Miami; and now a morgue in Lexington full of bodies hauled down from Brogey Holler, including that of Bo Crowder.

And Boyd sitting in his motel room with nowhere else to go.

Raylan reached down and turned on the tap, washing his hands and splashing cold water on his face. He dried off and stepped back into the room. Boyd was standing with his back to Raylan as he looked out the window before sliding down the sash and pulling the drapes closed. Sometime while Raylan had been examining his reflection, Boyd had hung up his coat on one of the coathooks by the door. Raylan had hardly seen him without some kind of outer garment since the day he visited him in prison, and it looked to him like Boyd was thinner than he had been then. Or maybe he was just used to the coat.

Boyd turned to face him, a look in his eyes so hollow and desperate and yet so full of some kind of faith that Raylan felt himself take a step forward before he’d even thought about it. But it was Boyd who covered the distance between them, hands reaching first for Raylan’s face and bringing their mouths together hard, and then running down his arms and taking him by the hips, pulling Raylan flush against him. Raylan’s fists bunched in Boyd’s shirt and they kissed like they’d wrestled twenty years ago, pushing and pulling against each other, neither one of them giving in, till they tumbled to the bed. They began to tug at clothing, Raylan slipping his shirt off before sliding his fingers against Boyd to undo his button-down, and he felt Boyd’s hands scrabbling at his belt buckle. Raylan had this whole process down when it came to women, but with Boyd, like everything else, it devolved into chaos. Boyd laughed quietly when Raylan ended up tearing his shirt trying to pull it off, and Raylan had to squirm against the mattress to allow Boyd remove his snug-fitting jeans.

Jesus Christ, Raylan, said Boyd, kneeling up on the bed between Raylan’s legs and taking in the full length of his naked body with his eyes. It don’t seem fair that twenty years has just made you prettier.

Raylan felt like he should be embarrassed but he found he wasn’t. He felt his cock swell and he dragged Boyd down against him, knees hitched up on either side so Boyd lay nestled in between his legs. He felt Boyd’s cock heavy against his own, and they started moving together, just little jerks of their hips that sent ripples of pleasure through Raylan’s body, and Boyd made little whimpering sounds against his mouth. Boyd kissed him like a ravenous man, full-mouthed and passionate, leaning on his elbows with one hand holding Raylan’s head and the other roaming over his shoulder, behind his back. The way Raylan held women, he realised, and he pulled back for a second when his stomach lurched at the thought. But Boyd didn’t stop holding him and just let his mouth wander down Raylan’s neck, seeking out the sensitive places, and soon Raylan didn’t care any more what way Boyd held him as long as he kept doing what he was doing.

And goddamn if Raylan didn’t find he loved it, loved being held down, his legs spread out on either side and Boyd moving with more and more urgency against him. He slid his hand between them and wrapped his fingers around both their cocks, jerking them up and down far too slow, till Boyd was pleading in his ear in a hoarse whisper and Raylan kept going just to see how long he’d wait. Not long. With a sound that was half a whimper, half a growl, Boyd pushed himself up on his elbows and stared down at Raylan, stilling his hand.

I do believe you’re playin with me, Raylan, he said, and Raylan felt his breath quicken at the look in Boyd’s eyes. Boyd ran one hand through Raylan’s hair, gently at first, but then Raylan found that he could not move his head, and Boyd returned to his neck, licking and kissing and then finding his gaze again. What could you intend by this? asked Boyd musingly, expecting no reply. Raylan gave him none because he was even still unsure that he could articulate his own desires.

Boyd’s eyes were soft and longing and when he smiled he smiled with the spark of new insight. Don’t you move, Raylan, he said, one fist still in Raylan’s hair and the other hand reaching over to the nightstand. He found the condoms and slid one out, tearing the package with his teeth, never taking his eyes off Raylan the whole time. Raylan found he could hardly breathe, and he closed his eyes while he felt Boyd lean back and roll the condom on. Before this moment he could never have believed himself willing, and yet his fingers were so tight around Boyd’s hips that he knew he must be leaving bruises. And the thought of that, of the imprint of his hands splayed across Boyd’s naked body, was suddenly overwhelmingly hot.

Get a move on, he gritted out through clenched teeth, and Boyd laughed as he gave Raylan’s cock a jerk or two and Raylan’s hips lifted off the bed.

My my, Raylan, he said, but he didn’t say it mockingly. He slicked up his fingers with his own spit and slipped his hand back behind Raylan’s balls, looking to get him ready. Raylan hardly knew what to feel, other than massively turned on. Sweat bloomed across his skin as Boyd penetrated him, gently at first and then more roughly, causing Raylan to whimper and search for his mouth with his own. Boyd kissed him hungrily, working Raylan into readiness, and then, their breath hot between them, Boyd, slicked up with Raylan’s spit and sweat and precum, hitched up Raylan’s leg against him and slid his dick home.

Raylan let out the deep groan that had been bottling up inside him ever since Boyd had walked in the door. Boyd started up a gentle rhythm, but soon Raylan wanted more and pushed up against him. Boyd kept him locked in position, and if he fought against his grip, it was just to feel Boyd pushing him down again. He felt debauched and reckless, he felt set free. Boyd started fucking him hard, angling it just right, and Raylan was gasping in time with the banging of the headboard. Boyd looked like he lingered on the brink of something devastating, some profound truth that he almost did not dare approach. Raylan kept his hands moving, holding Boyd and urging him closer and closer. Raylan felt his own balls tight and brought Boyd’s free hand to his cock, crying out when Boyd started jerking him in time with his thrusts. He came in a dizzying rush, his own come spurting over his stomach and chest, and Boyd’s eyes went wide and soft and he made some desperate sound and pushed home inside Raylan, his body arching forward as he came.

Neither of them could do anything but catch their breaths for a minute or two, Boyd’s head resting on Raylan’s shoulder and his fist limp on the sheet beside him, no longer clenched in Raylan’s hair. At length he roused himself to dispose of the condom in the bathroom before he returning to the bed and lying beside Raylan, wiping the come off his chest with a towel and then sprawling over him, looking blissed out and sleepy. He pulled the covers up over them.

Don’t mind if I stay, do you, Raylan? he murmured, curling his arm around Raylan’s face and kissing him softly.

Raylan shook his head. No, he said. You can stay. He felt disorientated, unused to seeing Boyd’s face so close, unused to the feeling of his thin, curveless body against his own. 

You sure? said Boyd. He absently ran his fingers over Raylan’s chest and put an arm around his waist.

Raylan shook his head disbelievingly. Boyd, he said, I don’t know what’s freakin me out more. The fact that you just fucked me into this motel mattress or the fact you want to cuddle after.

If you want to think of it as something more in line with your impressively masculine image then you go right on ahead, said Boyd. Maybe tell yourself it’s because you got to make sure I don’t sneak off in the night and tell the Marshal Service you’re fuckin another Crowder.

Raylan laughed and leaned up on one elbow. Fuckin another Crowder? he said. You plannin on makin this some kind of regular occurrence?

Depends, said Boyd, shrugging. You and Winona been heatin up again?

I believe we’re about to, said Raylan, lying back down while Boyd wrapped him again in his arms. And this is not gonna be some kind of Brokeback thing between you and me.

That the gay cowboy movie? said Boyd. I never saw it.

Raylan levelled a look at him. I’m not goin to lie to Winona to sneak off and fuck you.

Boyd gave him a sly kind of smile, pressing his mouth against Raylan’s shoulder. So what are you goin to do, Raylan? he said.

Raylan sighed. He stared at the ceiling as if seeking an answer there, and when he found none he looked once more at Boyd. I have no fuckin idea what we’re gonna do, Boyd, he said frankly.

The playfulness left Boyd’s face and they lay there, Raylan lying on his back and Boyd on his side, facing each other in the lamplight. Boyd broke the silence. When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path, he said. You are the only friend I have living, Raylan. Since my Daddy killed my own flock, I have been lost. Tonight, with you, I have found myself again, and no matter what we do from this moment on, trust that I will always be grateful to you, and you will never have cause to doubt me again.

Boyd had a searing sincerity about him, a heart-rending loneliness in his eyes. Raylan watched him for a quiet moment, his eyes drifting over Boyd’s familiar face, this revenant from his past once more present and causing an ache in his chest that he could not disregard. Fuck, Boyd, he said then, and he leaned over to turn off the lamp and gather Boyd into his arms in the darkness.


End file.
